The Murder Games
by Type40Treklock
Summary: Sherlock's bored, but so's a particular consulting criminal. When said criminal calls in the middle of the night with a frankly crazy idea, will Sherlock Holmes accept? Probably.
1. Chapter 1: The Phonecall-Early on Monday

**Soo... my first story! I doubt anyone will read it, but just in case you do...** **I've written out the first three chapters. This one's very short in comparison. I'm generally known as not a literary person, but I thought I'd have a go! If you read, please let me know what you think:) I'd be so grateful!!** **-Type40Treklock**

Chapter 1: The Phonecall

An unforgivably late (or early) hour

Sunday (Or Monday)

Bang! Bang! Bang!

John rolled his eyes. Couldn't Sherlock manage for ONE WEEK without a case?

BANG!

Apparently not. 'It wasn't,' John reflected as he made his way out of his bedroom, 'as though Sherlock wasn't wanted. An almost constant stream of cases came in, wether by post, blog or the all-powerful source named Mycroft, but Sherlock dissmised them all. John thought back through Sherlock's favourite reasons.

"BORING!"

"Thats hardly even a one, _brother dear_. If you haven't got anything even marginally intersting, then GET OUT."

"Lestrade, I think even you could solve this. Have you questioned the wife? No? Well go question her then!"

All of these rebuffs had been followed by a slammed door and a dramatic fall into the sofa.

So Sherlock had no case again, as he refused all that came to him, and was as usual suffering from a chronic case of ''I Must Make Sure The Whole World Knows I'm Bored' syndrome. Which was why John was not overly surprised to find Sherlock shooting the wall at 3:00am. Again.

"BORED."

"Sherl-"

"BORED! BORED! _Bored boredboredboredb-_

 _"SHERLOCK."_

 _"JOOHHN."_ Sherlock imitated.

"Would you please keep it down for goodness sake!? Its THREE IN THE MORNING!"

"...Ohh" said Sherlock slowly, doing his trademark 'flop dramatically onto the sofa' routine. "I don't care"

"Sherlock, we're not all superhumans who can go for-"

"We need milk." Sherlock cut him off.

John resisted the urge to kick something. Or someone... Taking a deep breath, he went over to the fridge and opened the door.

"Okkkk... yeah, yeah we need milk. Would you like me to pick up some more hearts on the way?"

Sherlock either didn't notice or ignored John's sarcastic tone.

"No, I should have enough for the experiment. Molly's giving me some more tomorrow anyway, before she goes away for the weekend."

"You mean today?"

"Huh?" Sherlock was confused

"It's 3:00am, Sherlock. Molly's giving you more hearts _today._ "

"Whatever." murmered Sherlock.

Anymore of this boringly repetitive and uninteresting conversation was spared as Sherlock's phone began to ring.

"Who is it?" Asked Sherlock listlessly. "Is it Lestrade? Does he have a case?"

"Unknown Caller ID." Answered John, with almost as much regret. A couple more wall-killing sessions yet then.

"BORING."

"Hmm. Might as well answer though. Could be a client..."

"You do it then." Sherlock rolled over, leaving John with the phone. Shrugging, John clicked accept call.

He almost dropped the phone.

"Jim Moriarty. HI!!"


	2. Chapter 2: Because I'm BORED!

**THIS CHAPTER IS RATED** T

 **There's a** **few mentions of violence and alcohol in this chapter, so I'm rating T for safety. I'm probably just being overcautious though. :)** **Please revew!**

 **-Type40Treklock**

Chapter 2: Because I'm BORED!!

11:30pm-Sunday

A deafening scream shook the cottage Mrs. Bantry was 'letting' while she went on 'holiday'. Sebastian Moran climbed cautiously up the stairs. He'd just got back from a job, and was completely wiped out. If Jim was in a worse fit of rage/bordom/sulking then he usually was, it was prudent to steer clear. Perhaps is he was quiet...

All hope of staying far out of the way of Jim's warpath was shattered, however, when a commanding yell of:

"SEB! Get up here! I know you're down there, I need you to clean my room. SEB!!" Echoed impressively down the stairs. Sebastian sighed and plodded up the remaining six stairs to his bosses bedroom. The door to the room was slightly ajar and he cautiously poked his head around the edge. When no bullet came whizzing at him, he fully stepped round the door.

Jim Moriarty was sitting on the bed, starting vacantly at the floor, a bloody knife in his hand. Glancing up briefly, he caught Seb inspecting the body in the middle of the floor. He stood up, holding out the knife.

"Bored." he informed Seb, by way of an explanation. "Bored, bored, _bored_."

"ok. What did he do?" asked Seen cslmly, taking the knife. He glanced down at the body as he stepped over it, further into the room. The man was forty to fifty years old, with pasty pale skin (though Seb thought the pasty bit was mainly coz he was dead) and greyish-black hair. Behind the reading glasses set at a crooked angle on his face, the dull eyes were a steely grey. His casual blue jeans and white t-shirt were stained red with blood from the gash in his stomach.

"Existed!" snarled Jim fiercly.

"ok." said Seb, taking one step back. The was a pause, in which Jim glared at Seb for taking the whole thing so coolly. He was BORED. Seb should find that important, if not terrifying!!

"Your boyfriend's cheating." he said suddenly. Revenge! Anyway, it was true.

"What?" asked Seb, losing his feigned disinterest.

"Yes Seb, BORED. Do at least _try_ to keep up."

"No, no!" Seb flapped his hands impatiently.

"That's not what I mean and you _know_ it, Jim."

But Jim just pressed his lips tightly together and did nothing but raise an eyebrow.

"ok." Seb said through gritted teeth. "Fine."

"Good." Smiled Jim. Though not quite as clever as his other methods, Seb's various boyfriends and girlfriends were a very efficient way to manipulate him. The funny bit was that his accusations were often true. Seb had terrible taste. "Let's take it from the top. Seb! Seb I'm bored!"

Scowling, Seb joined in. "You're bored boss!? Oh no, how can I help?"

"See how easy this is?" murmered Jim, then continued, "I don't know, that's why I called you!"

"Well, how about we brainstorm it?" suggested Seb with faked enthusiasm.

"Oh Seb," smirked Jim happily. "It'll be my brain doing the storming, your's'll* be trotting along behind like a domesticated tiger! But sure, we'll give it a go!!"

'And with that' Sebastian thought dryly, 'the rest of my evening was just lost to coming up with ways to keep my insane, phycopathic boss from being bored. _Great_.'

this is actually a word! It just looks of cause of the double apostrophe.

oO()Oo

3:00am-Monday

"So we've decided?" Seb couldn't quite keep the relief out of his voice.

"Yes, Seb."

"So I can go to bed now?" Seb sounded outright desperate now.

"Oh _no_ , Seb. You have to go pack!"

"But- But-, you don't even know if he'll say yes yet!" Seb was horrified. He hadn't sat down, let alone slept, for the last twenty-four hours. He hadn't even had a cup of _tea_!

"He'll say yes." replied Jim confidently. "He's just as bored as I am. Now go on, we leave at nine."

Seb groaned, but headed off to pack. Even if his bosses mood was improved, it was a bad idea to push it too far.

oO()Oo

John slowly took the phone away from his ear. He blinked, then shrugged. 'Moving in with a man who told you you're life story within five minutes of meeting you? You were asking for it.' he held out the phone to Sherlock, though not before putting it on speaker.

"It's for you." he said simply.

"Bored, boring, border." muttered Sherlock without turning round.

"Just take the bloody phone, Sherlock." snapped John impatiently. Something in his tone must have made Sherlock suspicious, for he turned round and took the phone without further preamble.

"Hello?" he said cautiously, standing up.

"Sherlock, hi!" Moriarty's Irish accent resonated through the phone.

"Ah," said Sherlock, immediately becoming business-like. "What do you want?"

"I am here to make a mutual proposition." Moriarty stated, sounding slightly pretentious.

"Oh," ventured Sherlock

"Yes," Moriarty continued pleasantly. "You're bored." he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes." agreed Sherlock in the same tone.

"I'm bored."

"Yes..." Sherlock repeated, wondering where this was going. He hated not knowing things.

"It's driving us both up the wall."

"Actually it's driving bullets into our wall." John interjected.

"Oh, really, Johnny-Boy! How interesting. For me it's sort of driving knives into people. Anyway," he turned his attention back to Sherlock. "So, this is a frankly terrible plan. But I'm bored so I don't care, and you're bored so you won't either."

"I might care!" put in John

"Yes," admitted Moriarty, "but you're Sherlock's pet puppy who happens to be good with a gun. Kinda like Sebastian is my pet domesticated tiger." at this John scowled and turned a spectacular shade of pink. "So, _anyway,_ here it is: we're going camping! It'll be great!!" Sherlock could practically hear his grin. John stared at him. He stared at John. Eventually Sherlock spoke.

"Elaborate."

"That's it."

"That's it?" repeated Sherlock.

"Yes, that's it, that's it! _See?_ That'show good I am right now. I've phoned up without a fully-formed plan!!"

Sherlock hung up.

This was a terrible idea. A terrible, terrible idea. On the other hand, he was bored... really, _really_ bored. It would be the most dangerous, the most stupid thing he had ever done. Perhaps if John didn't come? He HAD to keep John safe. He turned to the man in question.

"John...-"

"No, Sherlock."

"But John, I'm _so bored_. I-" But he was cut off by John's chuckle.

"What?"

"Not no to you going! No to you leaving me behind!"

"ohh... but John-"

"I'm not going to stop you from going because I know I can't. But I AM going to come make sure you're safe."

"John, it'll be very, _very_ dangerous." Sherlock realised his mistake a second too late.

"And that's why I'm coming." John cut through Sherlock's splutters. "Either we both do our neither of us do and I call Mycroft."

Sherlock opened his mouth, shut it again, and nodded. John smiled back and turned to the stairs.

"I'll go pack. Text Moriarty to find out the details." He said as he mounted the stairs.

"Ok," said Sherlock, turning to look out of the window, phone in hand. "and John,"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Thank you." Sherlock said. It wasn't much more then a mutter, but John heard.

"No problem. I'll always be here for you, Sherlock." He said, seriously. And with that, he continued up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3: Arrival and a Plan

Chapter 3: Arrival and a Plan

1:00pm-Monday

"That was, without a doubt, the worst car journey of my life." Huffed John. Sherlock shrugged, a slight smirk on his face.

"But John-"

"You were bored." Interrupted the doctor "I know Sherlock, that's all you've said for the last three hours."

"Three hours, eight minutes and twent- hey, where you going?" Sherlock broke off, scowling as John walked away from him. John and Sherlock had arrived at the camping site. The three hours (eight minutes and twenty one seconds) long car drive had made John cranky and Sherlock bored. But now they had parked the hired car (John suspected Mycroft would make sure their funds didn't decrease because of it) on the patch of grass they called their own and could finally stretch their legs. Ignoring Sherlock, John looked around with interest. The site was big, and already packed with caravans, tents, and what looked like a converted van. They had arrived on the third day of a ten day festival, and many people had already settled in. John (Sherlock had been sulking, but surreptitiously surveying his surroundings at the time) had asked the teenage boy at the gate if anyone called Jim Moriarty had arrived yet while he multi tasked trying to get Sherlock to put the wrist band on and got the languid answer:

"nah mate, booked a pitch near you though. Double, same's you. Now there's a map and that's your pitch. You wanna be heading in that direction." With this the youth gestured to the far side of the site, near some brightly coloured marquees and a large wooden building, and moved on to the next arrivals, so John had set off to find their pitch. He was quite relieved that Jim hadn't arrived yet, as it gave them time to survey the area, as it were, before having to interact with anyone. John was pulled out of his revere as Sherlock bounded up to him, a sulky look on his face.

"John, where are you going? We need to explore, there's workshops on, and the sites huge! And I read that there's a chemistry tent and I'm gonna go look, and we need to-"

"Go put up the tent?" John suggested. He was rewarded for this act of boringness with a disdainful stare and an unimpressed snort. "Sherlock..." He warned. Sherlock seemed to swell before huffing out his breath. "Fine, fine" he muttered "I'll help you with the tent, then I'll do as I please."

"Deal," said John "but only so far as you actually do help, and no stealing things to experiment on or breaking the science equipment."

"Fine," growled Sherlock. This was meant to be fun! Never before had he come so close to wishing Moriarty would come liven things up.

oO()Oo

Jim Moriarty was at this time lounging in the passenger seat of a large, black jaguar, watching Sebastian Moran try to extract the nessicary information from the utter moron who stood by the gate. Jim was well aware Seb was getting a little frustrated with the idiot (frankly, he was too) so he ensured the safety of the man by giving Seb periodic kicks in the shin. When they had finally discovered that yes, Holmes was here, yes, I told him you hadn't arrived yet, and yes, he took the pitch near yours, Seb abruptly wound up the window and proceeded at ten mph (the speed limit was five, but who cares about that?) to their pitch.

As Jim stepped elegantly out of the car he looked around him for the first time. He was a great beliver in not doing things in halves. If he was gonna look around, he was gonna do it when the car had stopped and he could do it properly. Jim first focused his attention on the people. He made a checklist of the people he could see within 30 metres of himself:

sixteen 1-10 y/os

thirty two over 18s

nineteen 11-18 y/os

N/B: Unlikely I have seen everyone, also unlikely all of them have tents in this area. This data is intended to be a spot test to gauge the type of community.

And then catogorised the main types (here to meet people, here because the kids wanted too, here with friends, here for the workshops, here with family other then kids, other, in case you're wondering). Having got an idea of the people, he turned to terrain. An abundance of family tents, a few one or two man ones, a large number of caravans (old and new), a couple of over expensive campervans and what looked like a converted van. Boring. Six small marquees, one large marquee, one dark tent (a very thick marquee with a sealable door), and one tremendously ugly wooden building which seemed in good state with far too many windows.

Completing his first task whenever he arrived somewhere new, he relaxed, and stopped blocking out Sebastian's oh-so-patient voice.

"Sir. SIR. JIM! Hello? No? No, your just ignoring me now, are you? Wow. Thanks a lot. I'll just go put up the tent then shall I?"

"Good idea," said a mocking voice from behind Sebastian. He whipped around and reflexively tried to punch the person, but they stepped back too quickly.

"I'd teach your lapdog some manners, if I were you," said the voice coolly "he shouldn't bite guests."

"SHERLOCK!!" Cried Jim joyously, a crowing note in his voice "how absolutely spiffing to see you, old chap!"

"I'm not his lapdog." Growled Seb at the same time, but nobody heard as Jim started to talk at a million miles per hour.

"Fancy seeing you here, oh what a surprise! Can't believe I've run into you again, I've been simply" Jim paused, then continued in a slightly sinister voice, "dying to see you." He grinned manically.

"Really." Said Sherlock emotionlessly, "how interesting." He turned abruptly to Sebastian, "put up your tent." Seb scowled, glancing at his boss. Jim inclined his head slightly, and Sebastian stomped round to the far side of the Jaguar and began pulling out tent pegs and sleeping bags. As soon as he was gone, Sherlock began to speak again.

"I have promised John that no, ah, unpleasant incident will occur while we are staying here. I require you to agree to my terms." Jim opened his mouth, a distainful look on his face, before Sherlock cut him off. "Remember, Moriarty, I am completely capable of leaving this place at any time, should I wish to do so. Do not attempt to threaten me, as we both know that you are saving your greatest act for the Grand Finale, so to speak, and anything else will be too insignificant to persuade me to endanger John or myself in any way." Jim snapped his mouth shut after this confident speech, trying to come up with a quick response. Coming to the conclusion he would have to go along with it, he decided there were other ways to play with Sherlock, and might not be to bad. Wordlessly, he stuck out his hand.

oO()Oo

"He can be quite, er, inventive, when it comes to science. I just want to make sure he doesn't break anything." 'Or steal anything, or poison anyone, or set the whole bloody place on fire...' He finished in his head. John was cautiously attempting to inform the man in charge of the science tent of Sherlocks... Interesting... Experiments. The tent was really aimed at children who wanted to mix vinigar and bicarbonate of soda with food colouring, but John wouldn't put it past Sherlock to blow someone up with only those. I mean, flour explodes if you throw it in the fire, a mill blowing up killed 19 people once. It would be just like Sherlock to decide now was the time to test if it worked the same when the fire was started with a match or a flint, or something.

"Oh, um, OK, well the stuff'll be locked in the barn at night, and there's nothing dangerous anyway..." The man trailed off. Deciding now was the time to stop drawing attention to the genius chemist, the genius killer, the notorious hit man and the ex-soldier who had brought along his gun currently camping in a festival full of children, John back-pedalled.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm probably just being over-cautious. Anyway, I'd better go. Bye!" He said quickly and turned away.

Sherlock and him had set up the camp earlier so he'd gone for a walk round the perimeter of the site. Sherlock was right, it was huge! He'd gone from their tent, which happened to be against the right-hand wall, right the way round the back of the camp to the other side, then down that side to the front. In the bottom left hand corner, he'd discovered a red and yellow circus tent. Peering in, he'd seen a DJ set with disco lights and streamers hanging from the centre pole. This, he supposed, was the teen tent he'd read about. There were discos each night till eleven apparently, and this whole section of the field was devoted to families with teens, or older teens who had come alone. The tents were concentrated in little groups, friends camping near each other. Now and again a lone family tent could be seen, when the people didn't know anyone else here yet.

He continued along the bottom edge, laying out a plan of the place in his head. Their tent was on the right if you were coming in, nearer the top edge then the bottom. Halfway down the right edge, a wide, concrete path going down to the entrance in the bottom right corner started. Along this path on the right were the large science tent, six smaller, numbered marquees for workshops and the 'camp office'. The officials sat in here, organisers, volunteers and first aiders.

On the left was the large wooden building. Looking in, he saw a large, nicely carpeted room with a small stage on the left and chairs arranged around it. The rest was open space. John also discovered that this was the Barn the science man had been referring to, though it looked like more of a conference centre on the inside. Next to this was yet another marquee, with a board saying 'The Beard Cafe' over the door. A menu of baked potatoes, salad, and various other meals stood outside, and an enticing smell of chilli drifted out. Ignoring his nose John had continued to the cinima tent. Outside this there was a list of films to be played, with the maturity rating opposite. Scanning the schedule, John made a mental note to go see Guardians of the Galaxy. Here the path stopped at the entrance, with a block of toilets on the right and showers next to that.

The rest of the site was pretty much just tents. The only other thing was the huge playing field in the centre, with goals either side and a path running round the outside. Other than this, the field was just crammed with tents, campers, caravans and that one converted van. John made his way slowly back up to thier pitch, intent on sitting down after his mammoth walk.

oO()Oo

Satisfied nothing unpleasant would happen to John, -or him too, actually- Sherlock began to explore the site as well. He found much the same thing as John, though he found it much quicker. Actually he did the whole thing at a sprint.

Arriving back at the tent he found John sat on a camp chair making tea on a gas burner.

"Tea?"

"MmHmm."

With this short exchange Sherlock stepped into the tent and sat in the entrance, preferring that to a chair. He had promptly abandoned John as soon as the tent was up, leaving him to lay out the sleeping area and chairs. As he pointed out, he had only promised to help with the tent. Annoyingly, the science equipment wasn't set up yet, and the tent was just like a big, cumbersome, pink-and-purple beast, sitting so that it directly blocked his view of the entrance. He scowled.

"What's the matter, Sherlock? Did our resident psychopath make a threat? Do I need to get my gun?" Johns tone started out nocholant, but grew steadily more serious. Sherlock, however did not seem to notice. Or care.

"No, I did," Sherlock sounded almost dreamy, still scowling heavily at the tent.

"Okkkk..." Said John slowly. "Why?" Sherlock turned to him, a small smile on his lips.

"Because," he drawled, "he is our resident psychopath."

"...right. So we're not going to get murdered in our beds?"

"Really John, there's always a chance of getting murdered in our beds, not necessarily by him. But no, he promised no 'unpleasant circumstances'."

"Kay." John turned back to his tea making.

Sherlock reflected for a moment on Johns rather calm reaction to the news he had just gone and threatened a psychopathic serial killer to stop him from attempting to kill them. He thought back to the times he had announced to Grahams team that he had threatened a criminal. He was usually met with 'Freak' (Anderson) 'Psychopath' (Donovan) weird looks (new recruits) and a patient 'right' (Gavin). Unconsciously he allowed himself a rather self pitying thought. 'I'm glad I'm not with them. Lestrade's ok, but the others...' He realised what he was doing, and nipped that emotion in the bud.

"Tea's ready." John handed him a cup. Sherlock smiled and took the cup.

"Thanks,"

John turned, surprised, to face the back of Sherlocks head.

"No problem" John smiled fondly.

oO()Oo

Jim Moriarty was walking - swaggering, Seb would say - down the concrete path. No need to explore, when he chose the site he had memorised the layout, so he wandered along calmly, concentrating, not so much on location, more like apperance. The Barn, with its stage and chairs was boring, likewise for the 'Beard Cafe'. He stopped at the cinema tent and glanced at the list. Bad, bad, I'll go see 1984, bad, bad, aimed at three year olds, yes! I'll go see that! Near the end of the list was Guardians of the Galaxy, scheduled for 7pm, Tuesday. Two days time. Jim glanced to his right and saw the Office. He turned away. How much more fun it would be if he could play with Sherlock! He fancied a game of murder, there was so many kids here. John made the funniest faces when it was a child.

Suddenly he did a double take. A board was hanging over the Office, a board that hasn't been there before.

THE MURDER GAMES

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO WIN?

(over 12's only)

Trying to keep from running, Jim went over.

"hi, what's this murder games thing?" ...well, he'd never been one to beat about the bush.

"umm," the official was giving him weird looks. Jim raised his eyebrows. "it's, um," 'get on with it!' Jim wanted to yell. suddenly, he realised there was his trademark manic grin on his face. Hastily rearranging his features into a more 'normal' expression, he explained.

"it's just, I'm here with some friends, and one of them likes detective novels, and so i was wondering, you know, is it, like, cludo or, um, you know..." he trailed off. the man seemed much more relaxed now.

"oh, right. Well, it's for the teens really, up to fifty people a game. you get a little slip with a name and a method, it might be something like, touch their left foot with a new pound coin, or something. then you find them and try to do it. if you do, they're out and they can't renter. then you bring them and the slip back here, and you get a point and a new slip. most points wins, and if you die you lose all of them."

Jim grinned.

"How do I enter?"


	4. The Murder Games

Hello again! I know I haven't published in ages, and I'm sorry! I wasn't sure wether to keep going

John's POV

"You want us to do what?" I couldn't belive it. Moriarty coming up with this was entirely possible (heck, it had happened) and Moran going along with it I could accept. But Sherlock? Sherlock was reckless, but not outright stupid! At least I thought he wasn't...

"John, it's a perfectly reasonable idea. Other people do it, and anyway," Sherlock continued in a low voice. "It might prevent any _unpleasant incidents_."

So yeah. A short version of why I'll be playing the Murder Games with a consulting criminal, an ex-army hitman, a high-functioning sociopath and forty-six teen-agers. Happy times, happy times. Then again, I did agree to come here, so I guess this'll be easy in comparison.

oO()Oo

Sherlock's POV

Turnes out theres a cash reward. 1 to sign up and 25 prise money. If I'd known that I could have convinced John much quicker, he's always complaining about the cost of milk, but I don't think he's looked at the bank account in a while. I have a - to put it in common words - 'feeling' that Mycroft may have changed some figures. Anyway, we all went down to the 'Office' and told the man we were entering, (the moron gave us some really funny looks) and handed over our pounds. So far, so fine. But then, the aforementioned moron had the stupidity to comment on Moriarty's accent. Really, I wish I'd had my phone with me, his face was _priceless_. He turned really quite purple, and turned to Moran but John, who was next to him, kicked him in the shin and mouthed _unpleasant incidents_ at him. Well, then he turned to me, and tried (and failed) to crick his neck, and said that he hoped he'd get a card with me on it! The whole thing was really quite childish, but that's part of what makes him so formidable. He's capable of the so complex that it takes me months to unwravell them, and the very simple, so simple that you quite fail to see the real solution and instead take entirely the wrong path to finding the it. His genius is not intelligence, so much (though I must admit he has plenty of it) but the ability to apply it in lots of different ways. Though no one will agree, I do recognise my own weakness of habitually over complicating.

oO()Oo

Sebastian's POV

Well, we signed up for this game thing. Sounds utterly ridiculous to me, but, you know, don't question the resident phsycopaths. Jim'll probably be quite good, he's cunning like that. Luring people in, convincing them. He did it to Holmes! I'd love to see Jim and Holmes's older brother together, they'd probably conquer the universe in the first five seconds. Anyways, went along with this game idea, but I'm beginning to have misgivings. More then I already did, I mean. I have to play, Jim would be furious, and though he promised Holmes no unpleasant incidents, I doubt my death qualifies as unpleasant for him. But if I get a card with Jim on, I can't kill him. That'd make him even more furious, and Jim himself is pretty unpleasant when he's angry. But I can't hold back, because Jim would yell at me about fair play, and be furious anyway! Honestly, the guy is _such_ a hipocrite! I've considered my options. I can't rig the box, Jim would tell and be, you guessed it, furious. You can't forfeit cards, and you can't trade. My only hope is to do it in a team, and hope it comes down harder on them then on me. However, the only people Jim would enjoy punishing more then me are Holmes and Watson, and let's face it, neither of them are gonna give me the _slightest_ chance to team. Sometimes being important is annoying. So my only hope is to, um, hope, that I don't get that card. But honestly, Jim is probably the hardest guy to work for out there. Watson thinks he's got it bad!

oO()Oo

Jim's POV

Well, on the whole I'd say convincing them was almost anti-climacticly easy. I convinced Sherlock, he convinced John the Puppy, and Seb just went along with it like the cute little tiger he is. Defiantly anti-climactic. Didn't do much today, got and sent a few emails re: blackthorpe murders. The job was apparently done smoothly, and the morons at SH (specialised hits, in case you're wondering. All together a rather boring name) have actually followed my plan this time. I don't see the point of coming to see a consulting criminal, whose time is very valuable and frankly has better things to be doing, if you're just going to ignore his advice. Oh well, I got the money, which means I can sell out of the drug partnership (the Boston one not the San Francisco one). Even if it was very successful and of high pecuniary value, the people were _insufferable._ I don't know if it was the drugs or if they were just natural imbeciles. Probably both. Sherlock better not go back on drugs, not till I'm done with him anyway. Not that he'll be able to do much by then.

Well this has been a completely useless thought chain, rambling on about this and that, so I'm deleting it.


	5. Let it Begin

Sherlock, John, Jim, Seb and the 46 teen-agers were lining up outside the office. Over the sound of chattering teens, Jim was listening to Sherlock and John's conversation.

"So, I should just hide the whole time, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh _no,_ John. That's too predictable. You should actively try to kill people, and you shouldn't team. Morons'll show you down."

"Right. Well, that plan's even more predictable."

"No it's not! Moriarty won't expect-"

"He will, Sherlock, he's standing right behind you."

Sherlock whipped around, just as Jim swiftly withdrew his head from between two sixteen year olds.

"Ah... JOHN! _Don't_ kill people!"

John was about to answer but was cut off by a man holding a large box of slips.

"Alright, pick a slip at random. You've got..." he checked his watch. "about ten minutes before we start."

John stuck his hand into the box, closed his eyes, and pulled out a slip. Nodding to the man, and grinning at Sherlock, he set off at a run.

oO()Oo

John stopped. He'd sprinted off in the direction of the tent, even saying to Sherlock that he'd forgotten his phone. Better safe then sorry. Then he veered left, over to the games field. Then slowed to a jog and went round it, then down to the teen tent. Now he was huddled behind it, unfolding his slip.

Robert Mathews

Touch them with a book you've never read.

John grinned. Easy! So long as he could find a book..

oO()Oo

Sherlock had taken a slip and was currently striding quickly away from the Office. He had of course worked out his plan meticulously beforehand. He was going to go in on the offensive, as he was a fast runner. Unlike John, he would have little to no problem getting away from people. First he headed in the direction of the Barn. Going in, he stepped onto the empty stage and hid behind some sound equipment. Slowly, he unfolded his slip.

Madaline MacKenzie

Sprinkle salt on their head.

Sherlock beamed. A noticeable name, and salt was easy to get hold of! Quickly, he made a list of priorities. First, he had to find some salt. Then he had to find her.

oO()Oo

John slowly got up. First port of call: the tent. He hadn't brought any books, but Sherlock might have. And he probably wouldn't have read them. It was unlikely, he thought, that anyone would be there. Unless Sherlock, Moriarty or Moran had him on their slip. However, if he kept going with the buts and what ifs, he'd never get anywhere. So, to the tent!

John went along the bottom wall this time, using the fact not many adults were playing the game, and trying to blend in with the crowd. His ten minutes were up, he guessed.

Walking boldly up the path, he noticed that the huge group in front of the Office had disappeared. He watched as the last person, a girl of about fourteen, took her slip and ran off up the path in the same direction he had. As she passed the barn, she jumped back. A tall man in a big, flapping cost had jumped out the door and tipped a salt pot on her head. John grinned. Trust Sherlock to make the first move. He continued to the party, towards the pair. As he passed, smiling at Sherlock, he caught some of their conversation.

"Now you should probably go explain to your mother that you aren't dead. She seemed quite sentimental."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock _had_ seemed to have discovered her pretty quickly. Anyway, find a book.


End file.
